He came through the battlefields, through an unnatural, disgusting swamp made of blood and corpses. With him, he brought darkness and terror, and after him, there was only grief, followed by a silence, so intense that it was hurting even those that were used to it. He came to observe, but what he saw did not please him. And though no one noticed, he slowly changed, impacted by this horror he saw, until there was nothing left of the mercy he was willing to share, forcing him to begin to spread the void he was left with instead, as if he knew forgetting was the most mercyful gift he could give to these poor, forgotten creatures suffering in the darkest depths of existence.
She came with the silence, and everything she touched faded away, slowly dying by her toxic kiss. Her plague, spread by the morbid light of her beauty, slowly became part of this doomed world, defined by the madness of the fallen. Like a flower it grew, and like a flower it lured with its beauty; but unlike a flower it would not die after being cut off.
It tempted to be a charm, but it was a curse.
They came with the set, and even though there was no glimpse of hope and no one could even imagine what it was like before the set soon after their arrival, they vanished with the rise as always, and as soon as the hope had been forgotten after the set, the horror was forgotten after the rise. As always.
The Dark King and His Pale Queen.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Funkenflüge
PoesíaDie ersten Funken meiner Poesie: Gedichte, die ich aus Sentimentalität und Mitleid mit meinem alten, unwissenden Ich gnädig weiter hier dulde. Flugversuche eines grüngeschnabelten Menschen, der Funken schlug, damit mir heute ein Feuer brennt, das me...
